


Inside The Glass

by strawberrykiwicaprisun



Category: BLURRYFACE - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Trench - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Amnesia, Comfort, Heavydirtysoul au, M/M, Slight horror, Smut, depictions of death but nobody actually dies, depictions of violence, please read individual chapter notes for specific warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykiwicaprisun/pseuds/strawberrykiwicaprisun
Summary: The black Cadillac drives him in endless circles, forced to relive the same cycle over and over again. He has forgotten how to escape. Until one day a flash of yellow in the middle of the highway wakes him up.The more he remembers, the more recklessly Blurryface drives.The closer he gets to Josh, the more pieces fall off the car.
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is just a bit of a prologue to the narrative. I will update the tags as each chapter is posted.

He isn’t sure if the moon is out tonight. The clouds cover the sky thickly, without a hint of starlight or moon glow to brighten his path. He stumbles over a raised root but catches his footing before he falls. The freezing air makes his movements feel jerky and sluggish, and his reaction times delayed like he isn’t entirely in control of himself. He reaches up to feel if his nose is still on his face and not fallen off from frostbite. He goes to tuck his hands into his pockets when he realizes they’re aren’t any. He’s wearing his issued black nightshirt and pants.

It’s been three days. Maybe four? Definitely four days. He’s been walking in the same woods that look identical, every leaf, trunk and root blurring together into a shapeless forest that haunts his every move. It’s always the same. 

An endless cycle, an endless winter and endless days that he isn’t sure are actually in order. Forced to repeat the same motions, begging for something to be different, but by the time he gets back to the city he’s forgotten it’s ever happened before.

Sometimes he wakes up sitting against the trunk of a tree, eyes blinking open to see the branches bare of any leaves crackling in the biting cold weather. Most times he wakes up already in the car. He will blink away dry tears crusted around his eyes and wipe at the blood crusted under his nose.

Six days is the longest he’s wandered when he wakes up in the forest alone. Six days? No, definitely seven. He’s survived seven days before. He knows he’ll forget that fact soon enough anyway.

He always finds the road in the forest, when he’s on his last legs. He always finds the car waiting for him when he cannot take a step further. It’s always parked, the red glow of the tail lights the only source of light he’s seen for days. Sometimes the hooded figure is waiting patiently for him to get into the passenger seat and take him home to the city. Sometimes he waits in the car for hours until the driver wordlessly joins him.

He never knows if he makes it because he always falls asleep before they arrive, lulled by the hum of the black Cadillac and the aggravating glow of the city’s lights in the distance.

It’s always the same route, on a different road. Four left turns should, in theory, make their path a square and back to where they started. But somehow they never pass the same stretch of road twice. He doesn’t know how the road and the car always seem to find him at the exact moment he can go no further, perhaps a simulated trick orchestrated by the city.

He supposes it’s a punishment for his escape and subsequent recapture—to be forced to relive this day over and over until they are satisfied that he’s forgotten everything he remembered. Most days he can’t even remember what his apartment looks like, he certainly doesn’t remember his own name. 

The cycle makes him forget. Soon he will be nothing but catatonic.

Stumbling, his worn out shoes drag along the pavement as he reaches the passenger car door and uses the last of his strength to wrench it open and collapse into the seat. 

The car is already on, key broken off in the ignition so the engine is unable to ever be shut off. The figure is already there. No air flows through the vents. He leans his temple against the freezing glass as the car starts to move, it cools his overworked brain.

There’s a clock in the center piece of the car. All three of it’s hands point to the number seven, unmoving. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he should be curious about that, but the thought disappears as soon as it had appeared.

The seat isn’t comfortable in any form, but in comparison to weathering the woods for several days it might as well be a throne. The black leather is too cold and slippery, the seat is tilted just so that he has to keep his feet firmly planted on the floor to keep from sliding around. The hooded driver is bundled up and doesn’t ever give away they are affected by the sub-freezing temperatures that plague the woods he wanders in year round.

It’s the fourth time he’s been taken back to the city in the car. Fifth? No definitely the fourth. Somehow he knows it’s the fourth month.

His eyes droop as he watches the world whir past their car that drives too fast for the curvy road. All of the colors blend together into a muted brown. Black trees, black pavement, white lines, brown grass, brown leaves, yellow blurs. Wait. Yellow?

He whips around quickly to follow the stark color he had forgotten the name of until he saw it again. The car swerves violently as he tries to make out what made up the yellow color in the center of the road but it’s too far gone before he can try and memorize it. He turns back around to face the pavement in front of him and the car stops swerving. He let’s go of the door handle he didn’t realize he had been holding onto tightly and settles back down into his seat.

Yellow. A color long forgotten. A color that he had never seen in the woods or the road before. He tries to quell his rapid heartbeat and curious twitching fingers as his mind races as fast as the car he’s in, letting his head rest against the window again.

By the time the city’s lights grow near enough to bathe the car in its neon glow, he has forgotten the name of the color, or that he ever saw it in the first place, sleeping too peacefully in the passenger seat of the fitful car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: Tyler is forced to ride in the heavydirtysoul car back to the city every time he wakes up, and he has no idea who he is or why he is being forced to relive the same cycle every moon (month).


	2. Chapter 2

It is sometime during the seventh moon when he jerks awake in the backseat of the car due to the front door slamming shut. It’s nighttime, not a hint of the day left. The cars headlights shine into the black abyss ahead of him. He must’ve fallen asleep waiting for the figure to enter and drive him home. He keeps his eyes in his lap and sits quietly, it’s strange, he’s never woken up in the backseat before.

“Hello.” 

He whips his head up. The figure has never spoken to him, and certainly not in as kind of voice as this. He scrambles back as far as he can into the back corner as he takes in the haunting appearance of his visitor. It’s a man, wearing a black balaclava, dark eyes shining through the mask, wearing only a white tank top littered with holes, and a pair of tattered blank jeans.

This man is not the figure. The man in question doesn’t seem bothered by his fear.

“You know me.” The man says simply.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes and his chest rises and falls rapidly, shaking his head back and forth in denial.

“Do you remember me?” The man asks far too kindly. He’s sitting in the passenger seat turned around awkwardly facing him, imploring eyes shaped with dark lashes that feel like they’re burning holes into him.

That’s a stupid question to ask, he thinks. He just told this man he doesn’t know who he is, why would he remember him? He shakes his head again, mouth sewn shut in fear.

“That’s okay.” The man says, holding a hand up in truce.

This must be a trick. A test by the city. He will pass.

“Do you know your name?” 

He thinks for a moment... pausing, then points to his citizen number embroidered on his nightshirt.

The man smiles a little, a hint of sharp white teeth barely visible, eyes flitting to the number, then tilts his head.

“Your real name.” The man reiterates.

He shakes his head in denial, the door handle presses painfully into his back as he tries to meld as far away as he can from the intruder, suspicious of the mans intentions.

“That’s alright.” The man shifts in his seat a little. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He doesn’t believe the masked man.

“Your car is the only one that ever passes by, I wanted to introduce myself.”

He knows that can’t be true because he has never seen anyone on his way back to the city. This has to be a mirage. Days upon days of solitude getting to his head and warping his perception. 

The man senses his apprehension and continues. 

“I’m always in the road when you pass by. You’ll see me. You just have to look, and remember that I’ll be there.” He shrugs like he’s trying to not make the statement seem as important as it is, but he can hear the underlying urgency in the mans tone.

“You look cold, here.” The man takes off his gloves and holds them out for him to take but it only forces him to cower further in the corner. The masked man looks crestfallen, then he tosses the gloves into the backseat.

He feels like a wild animal trapped in a cage, with a handler trying to gain his trust with treats thrown into his gullet, before abusing him into conformity for the circus.

He’s always cold, can’t remember the last time he felt his toes or the tips of his ears, but he’s been able to repress the shivers. Shivering shows weakness. Showing weakness in front of the figure is never a good idea, but he eyes the gloves greedily. This has got to be a trick. He can’t fall for it. But his fingertips feel like there have been nails hammered into them, skin pink and raw from the wind. The fabric looks so wooly and tempting. He tentatively reaches out for one. His digits are too freezing to really feel them, but the rewarding proud look on the mans face is what spurs him on to slip them over his hands, still warm from the other mans skin and he sighs. He knows the cold will only hurt worse when he eventually is forced to take them off when the figure gets back, but for now he can indulge in the momentary warm relief.

“You have to leave before he comes back.” He finds his voice. It’s hoarse from misuse and he’s suddenly all too aware of how thirsty he is. He can’t remember the last time he had a drop of water.

The man only shows a glimpse of surprise at his voice but quickly hides it.

“I will. Look for me this time. I’ll be right there.” The man nods his head towards the road ahead of them. “Try not to fall asleep before you do.” The man looks out the window likes he sees something.

He pulls distractedly at his red socks that are worn through with holes. Looking up he catches the man eyeing the thin red cloth that is practically in tatters around his ankles.

“You can shove the gloves in between the seats, they won’t check there.” The man says distractedly.

He frowns but nods dumbly. How was this guy not freezing to death in just a tank top?

“You know me.” The man repeats. “I have to go. I’ll see you out there!” The man exits the Cadillac hastily, closing the door as quietly as he can, not waiting for him to respond.

‘See you out there?’ He thinks. What strange parting words. The phrase reminds him of when he used to play baseball when he was young, teammates and coaches alike used to always say ‘see you out there!’ Before rushing the field to play. 

He tucks the gloves in between the seats and frowns at the blurry old memory. He had forgotten about that time in his life.

It’s not even a few moments later the drivers door opens and the figure is slipping inside. They lock eyes in the rear view mirror briefly and he snaps his eyes back down to his lap. He’s not supposed to look up. 

The car starts to move, slipping on ice occasionally and making the wheels lock up.

He wants to put his seatbelt on but he’s terrified the belt will never unlock once he does. Instead he grips his knees until his knuckles turn white, and clenches his teeth until his jaw is sore. His head falls back onto the headrest and he closes his eyes in an attempt to forget how fast the car is going.

It’s a mistake. Sleep pulls at his eyes the moment he closes them. He forgets he’s supposed to stay awake to look out for the masked man. 

He’s unconscious before they reach the second turn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: depictions of death, but Tyler can’t die because he is being forced to relive the same cycle over and over again. Don’t worry there is no permanent character death at all.

The eighth moon he only wanders for three days before the car finds him. He must be getting weaker. The sky is light this time, though it never stays that way for long. The tightly packed clouds always coat the sky in a thick blanket leaving no room for any leaks of rays to shine through, but it’s light enough that he knows it must be day time. He’s not sure the sun even rises over this part of the world.

When he collapses into the backseat, there’s already someone waiting for him. But it’s not the figure. It’s the masked man. 

He debates getting out of the car but then remembers the gloves in between the seats and the biting cold overrules his will to obey the city.

The man is sitting in the passenger seat impatiently, in contrast to the driver that always waits patiently for him.

“You fell asleep.” Is the first thing the man says as he tucks himself into the farthest corner of the backseat again. The question isn’t accusatory, worded as a plain statement with a hint of fear.

He doesn’t respond, instead sticking his hand in between the seats to dig around for the gloves. They’re still tucked away just like the man said they would be.

“Hey. You forgot to remember me.” The man says a little more desperately. It makes him pause in putting on the gloves to look up at the man. 

He feels like he should feel guilty, but still says nothing.

The man sighs a little in frustration but his eyes soften as he watches him rub his now gloved hands together. 

The man lifts the mask and lets it rest on his head like a hat. He is struck for a moment at the sight of a new face. How long has it been since he’s seen a new face? The man certainly isn’t hard to look at. His eyes are a wooded brown, the color now easily detectable in the light of day. A metal ring adorns his freckled nose and there’s a hint of past modifications by the empty hole under his chapped pink lips. 

He stills. Enraptured. It’s like his mind can’t decide what it wants to take in next, flicking back and forth over the mans high cheekbones and the hints of scruff on his chin, then back to his eyes that look far too kind to belong in a world such as this.

“Who are you?” He finds his voice to be rough again and looks down at his lap in embarrassment.

“I’m.... from where you’re going.” The man says cryptically, eyes on the horizon where they both know the city awaits.

That’s not exactly the answer he was looking for but it piques his interest at the new information that this man is also from the city.

“Who are you?” He repeats again, catching the mans attention from the city and back to himself.

“I have something for you.” The man ignores his question, an instead holds up a pair of new white socks for him to take. They both look down to his tattered red socks and his heartbeat jumps.

This time he does reach out to accept the warm clothing, and gives a bare hint of a smile and a nod in thanks, before tugging off his boots and old socks. His boots used to have a tread, but now the bottoms are as smooth as the tires on the car, not a hint of patterned traction left.

“Have you ever thought about what’s beyond the city? What’s beyond this car?” The man watches him fit his new socks over his feet.

The question makes him stop, brain working too hard processing the questions to be able to double task and continue to put on his shoes.

Yes. Yes he has. Maybe? He knows he wants nothing more than to end this cycle. Even going back to the city would be better than being forced to relive this day over and over. But has he even thought about how to break out of it? He’s sure he’s known the answer before but he can’t recall it.

The man doesn’t expect a response, so he continues.

“There are ways out of this. There’s a place of freedom waiting for you when you remember how to escape.” 

He looks back up at the man as he tries to retie his boots, but his fingers are shaking too much for them to work properly. 

The man slides his mask off of his head slowly, holding another hand out in front of him to show he means no harm.

The hat comes off and he wants to scream but all that comes out is a wretched inhale of breath and he’s kicking at the man to scramble as far away from him as he can.

His hair is yellow. He remembers what yellow means. That’s the yellow blur he saw in the street. This man is a bandit. He knew he wasn’t to be trusted.

“Please, I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you!” The man looks out of the windows nervously searching for anyone that would’ve heard the rattling of the car.

He just shakes his head and kicks again. 

“There’s more than just the city. There’s an entire populated world living in freedom. I want to help you out of this.” The man says hastily, shielding his face from his kicks.

He thrashes to get away from the yellow haired man and fumbles for the door handle. The bandit is quicker and reaches over to the driver seat to lock the doors before he can get a grip and tumble out of the car. He takes in a stricken breath and stares at the mess of yellow curls atop the bandits head. The yellow color is oddly comforting and warm in contrast to winter air and he finally wills himself to relax enough before his weak heart gives up from over exertion.

The yellow haired man sighs when he calms down enough.

“I’m always out there. You have to remember. The more you remember, the easier it is to escape. I know you know how to escape. You’ve gotten out of the city on your own before.” 

His mind reels. He vaguely remembers the city, and he knows he’s escaped before, but he can’t recall how or what lead him to it, or how he got stuck in this cycle, but he knows he’s stuck here because of his escape. How does this man know that?

“You know me. And I know you. You just have to remember.” The man leans forward a little to pat his shoe, and gingerly pulls up his ankle to rest on the center console so the man can tie his laces for him cautiously, prepared for him to kick out again.

But he’s paralyzed to try and stop the man from helping him. The bandit is so careful and gentle with his hands, his nails are painted the same shade of white as his ratty tank top. The yellow haired man moves to the other shoe and he swears if he concentrates hard enough he can feel the warmth coming from the mans hands seeping through his socks and shoes but he knows it’s just because he can’t remember the last time someone has touched him.

The man finishes and there’s a suspended moment where they stare at each other, his own gaze calculating and confused while the bandits’ is only forgiving and slightly sad. 

A twig snapping outside breaks the moment.

“I have to go. Remember to see me.” The man exits the car and slams the door shut. 

He rips off his gloves and pulls his pant legs down to cover his new white socks that have brought warmth, feeling and life back to his feet. He tucks the gloves away and he’s suddenly taken aback by his thankfulness for the bandits gifts for him. 

He wishes desperately to remember who he is.

A loud noise comes from the back of the car and he jumps to see the figure bent over, inspecting the tailpipe. He turns around in his seat before the figure can see him and looks down to his lap obediently, lacing his fingers together that are actually warm enough that they don’t sting when he does so.

The hooded figure steps into the drivers seat and practically starts taking off before the door is shut.

Immediately he knows something is wrong. It’s cloudy. That’s not unusual for the outside world but it’s the inside of the car that clouds up the faster the car speeds up. He looks up to the mirror to find the figure already staring back at him, wicked smile on his face. It sends a shiver down his spine and not from the cold.

They round the first corner and he tries to stifle a cough as the car quickly fills up with smoke. It’s smells potently of gasoline and exhaust. The figure doesn’t seem affected by it.

They come flying around the second corner and the smoke starts to stick to his clothes and makes his skin tacky. It coats his lungs and he doesn’t try to muffle his coughing now. 

They skid around the third corner and the smoke burns and stings his eyes and he wants to badly to close them but he has to see the yellow haired man. He has to know if it’s true. The hooded figure gives a deep chuckle that builds until it turns into a sinister laughter.

He feels light-headed and woozy, the air is thick and viscous like he’s trying to breathe water. Involuntary tears drip from his eyes and make his eyelashes stick together distractedly. But there he is. Smack in the middle of the street surrounded by metal circles and stands, throwing his arms around and hitting the metal pieces methodically, stark yellow hair shining brightly like a beacon of hope in the dark and dismal road. He barely catches the sound of a crash and a bang as the car passes the bandit by cleanly. 

He’s so delirious at this point for a moment he doubts he really even saw him.

They careen around the fourth corner and the smoke chokes him and fills the car, streaming out of the vents and entirely blocking out any line of sight outside of the car. He can’t see out of any the windows. How was the driver seeing where he was going?

He reaches for the door handle to open it but the driver swerves and pulls the steering wheel as he tries. It’s no use. It’s locked anyway. 

Mucous drips out of his mouth as he coughs and his nose starts to bleed, red drops disappearing into the black cotton of his nightshirt. He’s dying. He can feel it. It burns his lungs like they’ve been lit up with hot oil. 

The figure must’ve seen the bandit in the car. They clogged the tailpipe. He was getting punished for it. He curses the color yellow.

The smoke collects and clogs his ears and his senses are completely deprived. No hearing, no seeing, no breathing. It’s painful.

He chokes on the smoke a final time before his body slumps and he slips under into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up already in the backseat in the middle of the ninth moon. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up already in the car. Snow is falling dryly outside, the headlights catch and reflect off of every piece that flutters down in front of the car and makes the dark night look like glittering starlight. For a moment he swears he’s in purgatory. It’s so so quiet. The snow muffles every noise, not even a hint of wind. A weightless state of limbo that has his mind floating somewhere above the clouds. 

One by one, feeling starts to come back into his toes, his feet, his legs, his hips, his chest, his arms, his neck, his head and it’s like all of his senses kick back on and he can take a deep, clean breath. The stench of exhaust still lingers in his nose, but he finally lolls his head up from where it rested on the backseat to see that the car and himself are unharmed.

He’s alive.

Overwhelmed, he feels as though he could cry, the terror of resigning to his death still fresh in his muddled mind.

But the tears never come. Interrupted by the soft tapping of knuckles against the window to his right. He wants to lock the doors and shut himself away and shut the bandit out but can’t bring himself to do it. He reaches over to unlock the door and the mans worried gaze comes into view as he ducks inside. 

The bandit shakes the flurries out of his bright and fluffy curls and pulls the door shut and they are locked in the silence of the car again, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“You got me killed.” He speaks to the bandit first.

To his credit, the yellow haired man looks guilty, and scoots closer to him. This time, he doesn’t cower away from him in the corner, his body to tired to do anything but lazily roll his head to look at him.

“The more you remember, the harder they’re going to try and make you forget.” The man says and his voice is thick but smooth and rich and it soothes his ears. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful to leave before he can see.” The bandit tacks on, and moves slowly to dig in between the seats for the gloves. 

“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?” He sighs half heartedly. Their fingers brush as the bandit hands him the gloves and he feels a weird and uncomfortable rush of... something flow through his veins. He busies himself with tugging on the gloves.

The bandit doesn’t respond and he knows he’s right. He catches the man sizing him up.

“What?” He questions nervously.

“Nothing, you just seem more awake. More aware.” The bandit states simply and he just shrugs in response.

“Tell me why it’s worth it. Tell me why the pain and death would be worth breaking free.” He says, not meeting the yellow haired man’s eyes.

The man scoots closer but this time he doesn’t mind.

“I’m from Nills district. That’s why the cold doesn’t bother me. It snows year round there.” 

“You’re allowed to come and go as you please?” 

The bandit shakes his head, he catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m from that district, but I don’t live there anymore. There’s a few of us, that live out in the tundra beyond the city, in freedom. Those of us that have escaped. It’s not much, but we have each other.” The man speaks so softly he gets bumps on his arms and legs, luckily hidden by his clothes.

“Why yellow?” 

“Those in charge can’t see the color yellow. It’s a sign of rebellion, and so we can always find each other even under their gaze.”

And that’s new. His mind whirs at the revelation of new information. They can’t see yellow? The figure is from the city but he isn’t an elder. Can the figure see yellow?

“I’m fairly new to the group, so I’m not used to wearing the bright color- but I used to dye my hair a lot so this was a baby step for me. I wanted to show my belief and allegiance to the group, but I was too scared to wear the color on my clothes, so this is my way of wearing the color proudly while still being comfortable.” 

“It’s definitely more permanent than clothing.” He says before he really understands the words that are tumbling out of his mouth. He looks up at the man to his right under his lashes and over burning cheeks.

The bandit gives him a genuine smile and he’s able to see his bright and wide cheeks dimple as he grins and gives a self conscious scratch to the yellow curls on his head.

This time, he’s the one to scoot close enough that their knees are practically touching. The yellow haired man smells like pine and fresh air and maybe straw? It cleanses the remaining scent of gasoline from his nostrils and fills him with an overwhelming sense of comfort. This time he doesn’t have to imagine the warmth radiating from the yellow haired man as he can physically feel it when the bandit knocks their knees together good-naturedly and his eyes slip closed to focus and chase the brief warmth.

“Tell me about the place of freedom.” He sighs out, eyes still closed.

The bandit seems to understand he wants his mind taken off of what might happen to him tonight.

He’s aware enough to know that the bandit lets his arm rest on the backseat behind his head before he speaks.

“It’s bright. The sun shines there. So do the stars. And the moon. It’s also quiet. We like to fill the silence with music. It makes the tundra seem not so expansive and empty. We also like to think that one day the people in the city will hear the music and wake up, and try to escape, and follow the music to our camp.”

“Could lead other things to you as well if you’re not careful.” 

“We are slowly figuring out what to do and not to do in order to not only survive, but live out there.” The bandit amends. 

He jumps when there’s a gentle brush and scratch in the short stubble of the hair on the back of his head and his eyes snap open to see the bandits arm connected to the hand that was rested behind him was the culprit of the gentle scratches.

He’s shocked. But the touch is not unwelcome.

The yellow haired man takes in his wide eyes and goes to apologize and pull his hand away but before he even thinks he’s reaching out to grab the man’s wrist from moving away.

“Sorry, it was just an unconscious action.” The bandit stumbles out but he shakes his head before the bandit can pull away further. The man’s skin is so warm and inviting under his touch and his chest clenches at how good it feels.

“S’okay. You can keep doing it.” He admits openly, albeit a little shyly. 

The man continues the scratching and it makes him go boneless. He knows for sure they know each other. He just can’t remember him. The touch feels all too familiar.

“Tell me more about outside the city walls.” He hums in content. He’s so cold that everywhere the other man touches him feels hot enough to burn him.

The yellow haired man hums in return.

“We call it Trench.”

“Trench.” He repeats slowly. The word feels foreign and familiar at the same time on his tongue.

“There’s fire there. True fire, not neon. It provides light and safety at night. Those who come from the city don’t like fire, it’s too hot and keeps them at bay.”

He thinks that maybe the mans hands were made of true fire and selfishly wants more.

“There’s also flowers. Fields of yellow flowers. Big and small and different shades, each one unique. You’d like it.” The bandit nearly breathes the last sentence.

His breath catches in his throat. 

“I know you.” He whispers aloud.

The yellow haired man looks hopeful but stays silent.

“What is your name?” He grits out of frustration.

The bandit deflates, anticipation of being remembered, crushed.

“You know my name. You know your name.” The man consoles and reaches over with his right hand to hover over his right leg. He doesn’t stop him so the man takes it as okay, and places his hand lightly on his thigh.

He lets out an embarrassing whimper through tears that spring to his eyes at the warmth of the mans hand and in the sickening frustration at the betrayal of his own brain withholding such precious information from him.

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to be so forward I just—“ the bandit sighs in defeat. “I’ve missed you so much.” He whispers.

The man’s hand squeezes his thigh tighter, and scratches at the back of his head comfortingly. Fingers dig into the soft part of his inner thigh while the man’s thumb drags over the top in an invisible pattern like he is tracing something. The pad of his thumb feels like it’s generating static through the cloth of his pants with each meaningful press and swoop.

He lets he knees fall open wider out of pure instinct and the man gasps at the action. 

His head falls dead weight into the man’s cradled hand behind his head, and with the same hand, the man’s thumb indulgently brushes over the corner of his jaw and he turns his cheek into the touch to take in the warmth emanating from the open palm.

“You know your name. You know my name.” The man whispers intently, hand on his thigh sliding up, leaving his skin feeling fizzy and goose-bumped in its wake.

There’s second where both of them freeze— and then the man places his hand fully on his crotch and squeezes through his pants and he’s didn’t even know he was half hard just from the man rubbing over that spot on his thigh.

There’s no air in his lungs but this time it’s not from choking on smoke but because the bandits hand moves so purposefully and plays him like he knows exactly what makes him tick. It’s familiar. He swears the man’s name is in the tip of his tongue as his hips jut forward out of their own accord into the man’s hand.

But it pulls away and everything is so cold, he lets out a noise of indignation before he can stop himself, his mind elsewhere. The hands tug the gloves off of him and slip out from under his head and he comes back to his mind to realize the yellow haired man is leaving.

“He’s coming. I’ve got to get out of here before he sees me. I’m sorry.” The bandit says and it looks like it’s hard for him to force himself out of the car as he sees how the short haired man’s head is compromised.

“Don’t forget.” He warns in farewell, before slamming to door shut.

The car is cold again without the yellow haired man in it. His body is freezing and hurt without the yellow haired man’s hands on it.

He experimentally pokes the place on his thigh with his own thumb and covers his mouth to stop the moan that wants to escape his lips from the pleasure shooting up his spine.

The driver’s door opens and he snaps out of it and jerks his head down to his lap and lace his hands over his crotch, hoping the figure won’t suspect anything. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

They pass three turns when the bandit suddenly becomes visible in the road, sitting at the strange gear and hitting it. 

His eyes widen when the figure steers the car to drive directly in the center of the two lanes, heading straight for the man. 

What is happening? They’re going to kill him. They’re going to kill the bandit and total the car. 

The figure is driving fast. Too fast. The car approaches the man too fast, he’s going to kill him. They’re going to kill him!

“JOSH!” He screams out at the last minute and the car swerves violently and narrowly misses the bandit. The car screeches into a spin and the driver side mirror falls off, scattering away into the woods by the side of the road.

The car finally halts after spinning wildly and he nearly tumbles out of his seat at the force of the sudden stop. 

The figure meets his eyes in the rearview mirror and there is fury in its eyes but this time he stares right back. 

The driver steps on the gas like nothing ever happened, and he sits back in his seat, mind reeling. 

Josh. Josh. Josh. His best friends name is Josh. 

There’s a vivid memory imprinted into his mind of Josh’s knee, jeans cut open to reveal the flesh and the blatant name tattooed on his knee.

Tyler. Tyler. Tyler. His name is Tyler. He remembers his name is Tyler.

He wants to laugh but his mind is so confused and mixed up with the rapid emotions he’s gone through since waking up this moon. 

Pain. Sadness. Anger. Comfort. Pleasure. Fear. Worry. Terror. Recognition. 

His mind feels raw and open like an exposed nerve. He doesn’t know what to focus on, body thrumming with unnamed manic energy for the close call. Adrenaline.

The windshield has a crack in it. Small, but still noticeable. Tyler wonders how easy it would be to get the whole pane to shatter.

He won’t forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts about Josh dying his hair yellow because he wasn’t quite ready to wear it on his clothes when he first became a Bandito? That’s my own personal theory but idk.
> 
> I think it’s also apparent that I have a big thing for their matching tattoos. 4 years later and I’m still emo about it. I like to think of it as a point of connection for each other in this fic thank you for coming to my talk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: depictions of death and depictions of attempted murder but nothing too graphic and again, nobody actually dies. Lots of references in this one, hope you enjoy.

The tenth moon he wanders for eight days in the woods before he finds the car. HE finds the car. The car doesn’t find him. It’s what he tells himself. 

It’s the dead of night. The snow has soaked through his clothes and through every bone in his body and refrozen in the pores of his skin.

He pulls on the passenger door handle but finds it locked. That’s strange. The car is never already locked. He pulls again to see if he’s just weak. The door remains shut.

Trudging to the back doors he yanks hard enough that he nearly falls when the door swings open easily. This time he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the seat, curling up across the back, uncaring if the figure finds him this way.

He’s shaken from his sleep what feels like not even a minute later but he knows it’s been hours, because the sky outside is lightening. He goes to sit up quickly but a gentle hand on his knee stops him from hurting himself and panicking.

“It’s just me.” A quiet voice caries from the farthest seat and Tyler looks up to see Josh holding his legs over his lap, hand politely patting his knee. He meets Tyler’s eyes and Tyler really could cry because he knows him. He knows Josh. He doesn’t know everything but he remembers enough to know that this man is his best friend and holds galaxies in his eyes.

“Josh.” Tyler croaks our his name and wiggles around to lay on his back, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What did you say?” Josh asks in disbelief.

“Nice to meet you, Josh. I’m Tyler.” He smiles but winces when the stretch of his lips pulls on a scabbed-over cut in his lip.

Josh’s doe-brown eyes widen and a breathless laugh escapes his jaw-dropped mouth.

“Tyler. Tyler!” He exclaims, quieting his voice down when Tyler winces at the sharp noise.

“You remembered!” He whisper shouts.

“Sorry he almost hit you.” Tyler shivers almost pathetically, clothes still soaked and unable to dry from the cold winter air. Josh has put his gloves on for him in his sleep. He’s thankful.

“You’ll never hit me.” Josh sure sounds very confident.

“I’ll never hit you?” 

“I’ll always be there. I’ll always be in the middle of the road. You’ll never hit me.”

Tyler thinks there’s more to that slip of words than what is spoken, but doesn’t prod further for clarification.

“Can you be closer? I need-“ Tyler doesn’t know how to ask Josh to share his physical and emotional warmth, but Josh understands him anyway.

There’s a hint of a relieved and satisfied smile on Josh’s face when he nods and lets Tyler rearrange them so they’re both laying as flat as they can across the backseats, Tyler squished in between Josh and the seat.

Tyler can tell Josh is trying to be respectful of his space, but also trying to avoid falling off the seat. Tyler pulls him closer but they both keeps their arms tucked to themselves, his face hidden in Josh’s thin tank top, and Josh’s chin on top of his head. It’s uncomfortable but It’s warm. It’s the warmest he’s been in months. 

He belatedly realizes he wants to climb inside of Josh completely to be enveloped in the warmth he radiates. 

“Tell me about your escape.” Josh whispers into his ear when they’re settled. 

“How’d you know I never forgot about that?”

“A limp and a hunch.” Josh reveals.

Tyler sighs and indulges in Josh’s warmth surrounding him, nearly getting lost in the feeling, Josh’s heartbeat rhythmic and pounding enough to practically rock him to sleep.

“I’m from the district on the western-most side of the city.” He doesn’t remember who his elder is.

“Nico.” Josh supplies helpfully. Tyler is grateful.

“Right. Nico.” He closes his eyes to remember more clearly. “There’s no light there. The only time we even get to see the neon is in worship or in our apartments.”

Josh tangles their ankles together, boots catching awkwardly but it still fills Tyler’s heart with endearment and the feeling of being comforted.

“I don’t remember what caused me to wake up. But I remember being curious. Curious enough to warrant the attention of the elders. They were going to give me a gravestone and send me to the towers to be silenced.”

Tyler lifts a shakey arm, weak from exposure, and scoots down enough to let his pointer finger trace his name tattooed on Josh’s exposed knee through his pants. This time Josh shivers.

“The night before they were going to honor me in worship and bestow me with the blessed title of “king”, a fire broke out in my apartment building. Real fire. My building was at the edge of the west wall. It burned a hole in the wall, a giant crack just big enough for me to fit through. I just walked out. There’s no light in that district so I slipped out easily.”

“They were going to glorify you.” Josh states.

“They caught me before I had even made it out of the forest. I’ve been reliving the same cycle since. It’s been 10 moons. I don’t know what happens to me in between the times I’m forced to find the car. Moon long gaps in my memory that I’m not sure I want to remember.”

Josh doesn’t say anything more, and Tyler thinks he’s fallen asleep. His breathing is shallow enough for him to believe so.

“Did you start the fire?” Tyler whispers.

For a long time Josh doesn’t answer. And Tyler is sure the question will go unanswered, but then the yellow haired man slurs through his sleep, and his scruffy chin nudges Tyler’s head as he speaks.

“Not just me.” He admits. “The west wall is blocked now. When you break the cycle you should come meet us in Trench. Find us where the sun first meets the horizon.” 

The sun first meets the horizon?

“I don’t know which way is which. The clouds are too thick for me to know where the sun rises and sets. It’s how I get so lost out here. I end up going in circles. I never know which way I’m going. I hear my way around. It’s more reliable than sight, too many things to trick your mind in the woods.”

Josh grumbles and shifts around enough to shake the car slightly as he digs in between the seats and pull out a rusty pocket-watch and presses it into Tyler’s palm.

“They never clean out the car. It’s surprising what you can find left over from previous passengers.” He says cryptically.

Tyler flicks open the pocket-watch to find it’s not really a watch. It’s a compass. He could cry from joy. It’s beat up, but it works. 

They lapse into companionable silence, and despite his fears of them being caught, he lets his eyes fall closed. 

“You can rest if you like. You were out there for a while. I’ll keep watch and wake you up before he gets back.” Josh shifts underneath the weight of Tyler’s legs.

“Okay.” Tyler whispers. He kind of wants to keep talking, but sleep tugs at his eyelids, soothed to rest in the safety Josh provides.

Shutting his eyes is never a good idea, and nightmares pull him into unconsciousness. 

He must go under because when he wakes up again, Josh is no longer in the car, and he is sat upright in the left-most seat in the back.

Did he dream that entire encounter with his best friend? No. The compass burns a hole in his fist and he buries it in between the seats. The figure is in the front seat, waiting for him to wake up.

It makes Tyler angry. Angry enough that he tries to bore holes into the figures eyes in the mirror but they never take the bait and never meet his gaze. He’s quick to his fury, and is scared of his own will to murder the figure. To end the vicious cycle in their death.

The car can’t complete the cycle if there’s no driver. He feels like he’s acting on a blind rage.

He tugs on the seatbelt and is momentarily surprised when it breaks completely free, the car more decrepit than one might guess, the buckles rusted over. He will disrupt the normal repeated cycle and throw it off balance so he can escape. 

Tyler wraps the seatbelt around both of his hands, leaving slack in the middle. 

They turn the second corner. 

Tyler throws the belt over the drivers seat and wraps it around the figures neck. The car skids and swerves but the figure steps on the gas harder.

Fitting his foot on the back of the driver seat for leverage he pulls harder and starves the figure of air, gurgling and choking sounds ripping out of them. Anger courses through his veins and makes him pull the belt more taught. 

Now the driver knows how it feels to be choked to death.

The belt rubs the palms of his hands raw but it’s nothing in comparison to the pain of enduring the cycle for the rest of his life.

A tire pops off the car and scatters sparks over the hood.

He nearly blacks out when he looks into the rearview mirror and instead of seeing a swollen blue face, he sees the figure is smiling at him. As soon as they lock eyes it’s like they switch bodies and Tyler suddenly can’t breathe, the phantom pressure on his neck feels so real he lets go of the belt to try and tug away the invisible vice around his neck only to find there’s nothing there. It felt so real.

As soon as he lets go of the belt he feels the weight lifted from his throat and takes heaving gulps of air, the car shakes and turns until it’s skids to a stop.

The sparks have taken hold in the hood of the car and it lights the engine on fire.

The car is on fire. 

The doors lock before he can even think about climbing out. The figure smiles at him in the mirror. 

The fire spreads. He throws himself at the window, begs for Josh, begs for someone above, even begs for the Bishops to take him before the fire does.

The flames lick up his boots and he screams until he’s sure there’s blood pouring out of his throat. He swears his tears evaporate from the heat before they can even fall.

The fire makes his bones grow.

Blurryface is sitting comfortably in the flames, smiling in the heat, red eyes aglow, laughing at Tyler’s attempts to get free and reveling in the smell of charring metal and skin mixing with the smoke pouring outside of the car.

Outside, Josh is the one covering his ears to drown out Tyler’s screams in terror as he burns alive. It was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Tyler knew how to get out.

This is not what he had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the face of death, Tyler remembers what he’s supposed to forget. He remembers Blurryface and the Bishops names, and remembers Josh’s name when Josh nearly dies. Just something to think about.


	6. Chapter 6

He’s brought out of his unconsciousness due to a slight pressure on his lips. In his hazy, drowsy state, he thinks of himself as that princess from childhood stories. The one that is kissed awake from her death. What was her name? He doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes, instead focusing on the white light shining through his lids. Oh right. That’s what her name was. Snow White.

He stirs a little, but otherwise remains unable to fully wake up.

He hears a voice that’s on edge. 

“Your lips are blue.” 

Tyler is conscious enough to recognize there’s a pad of a thumb running over his lips. He’s not Snow White being kissed awake after all.

His awakening is a slow process, his brain stuck in the between stages and unwilling to let go of his rest. Blurry shapes still flutter behind his eyelids from his nightmares, taunting him even in his waking hours.

It’s jarring, when he realizes he’s warm. No. Not warm. But void of any temperature at all. Like his body is the exact same temperature as the outside world and he can’t distinguish where his limbs end and the world begins due to the numbness of his lukewarm blood. He can’t move. He can’t feel his body. It scares him.

He lets out a hum of discomfort at the sensation. The thumb tracing his lips stops and a hand joins in to slap over his mouth and that causes his eyes to fly open in fear.

The first thing he recognizes is the dark black tree branches, devoid of any dead leaves and swaying far above him, contrasting the pale grey overcast sky. He’s confused and disoriented, until his common sense kicks back in and he understands he’s laying down on the ground.

“You’re alive.” Comes the careful whisper from beside him, and he gathers just enough strength to turn his head. 

It’s Josh. 

It’s always him.

He looks terrified.

Tyler whimpers again and starts panicking when his body won’t respond to what his brain wants him to do. His body moves but not in the way that he’s telling it to, he can see his legs kicking weakly out of the corner of his eyes.

Josh’s eyes widen and he’s on top of Tyler in a split second, holding him down and shushing him. They’re pressed into the dead grass that’s frosted over from the winter weather, it crunches as he tries to move under the man on top of him. 

“Tyler, please be quiet.” Josh looks desperate and it only serves to make Tyler cry through his teeth at the pain that strikes his body at Josh’s touch.

Why does it hurt wherever Josh touches him?

“You weren’t waking up. You’ve been sleeping against the tree trunk for days without moving. You’re supposed to wake up. Why didn’t you wake up?” Josh whispers frantically. 

Tyler’s throat tightens up in fear and he lets out another pathetic cry from his rough vocal cords.

“I’m not supposed to be here. But you were freezing to death. You were going to die. Why didn’t you wake up?” Josh’s tone isn’t accusatory but instead he sounds like he’s pleading to something higher up than what’s on this earth.

He’s able to tilt his head down enough to see that the bandit has wrapped himself around Tyler as tightly as he can, hands invading the safety of Tyler’s clothes and rubbing warmth back into his frozen bones. 

That’s why it hurt. He was getting frostbite. Josh’s body was keeping him warm.

“I’m not supposed to help you. We aren’t safe. You have to be quiet.” Josh’s voice is edging on manic, but his voice is barely audible over the wind roaring in Tyler’s ears.

The panic helps but hurts. It makes his blood rush faster and work to keep his body alive, but it hurts to suddenly be able to feel his limbs being frozen. He keeps thrashing because of Josh’s body trapping him to the ground and not being able to feel his arms or legs sends spikes of anxiety through him. 

He’s petrified to look at his hands, somewhere in his mind he knows they must be black from frostbite, necrotic and withered just like Blurryface’s hands wrapped around his own blackened throat in his nightmares. 

He chances a look at his hands curled into themselves in his chest. They’re covered with thick black gloves. 

He’s so anxious that tears spring to his eyes but he swears they freeze into crystal droplets before they even leave his eyes. He pulls his lips apart with great effort and gasps painfully as Josh struggles to keep his body still and warm. Tyler cries out of agony— physical and emotional.

“Tyler please, you have to be quiet. It’s for your own good.” Josh clamps his hand over Tyler’s mouth again and squeezes him tighter. It makes him actually scream out of fear behind Josh’s hand. 

A twig snaps to their right and they both still and look towards the source of the noise. 

It’s a rabbit. Fluffy and white with wide eyes and long ears pricked up in curiosity. 

He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s out of his own will. Tyler knocks Josh off of him in a moment of strength and crawls towards the rabbit with such a fiery anger in his heart that it flows over his brittle bones like lava and he’s able to feel every cell in his body down to all ten fingers and toes. 

He crawls after the rabbit with every intent to kill it. 

He can feel a growl cut through his throat at the sight of the animal so unafraid of him. It’s everything he wants to be. Everything the bishops want him to be. Pure and fluffy and innocent through ignorance. But he’s not. He’s not a rabbit. He’s a dog. He’s not pure. His body stained with black smears. He’s not fluffy. His hair is cropped short from his escape even though the bishops like to keep it long and easy to grab onto. He’s not innocent, he kills himself every moon with each failed attempt to rid himself of the car. He is not ignorant, he remembers who he is and what he has to do.

He gnashes his teeth. He doesn’t want to kill the rabbit. It’s not at fault for his anger. He doesn’t want to kill it. He’s going to kill it.

Just before he reaches the animal, Josh jumps him, tackling him to the ground he was crawling on. He’s stronger, broader, healthier, it’s useless to try and break free of the hold but he still cries out of frustration from being so weak, watching helplessly as the rabbit scampers away.

Josh seems to understand, holding him down and hushing him quietly.

“It’s not your fault.” Josh soothes but it does nothing to quiet Tyler’s cries.

A rattling noise startles them both and Josh’s hands shoot up to cover Tyler’s ears. He picks up a muffled “Don’t listen!” From Josh and uselessly squeezes his eyes shut as if it will help him not hear. 

He knows he’s still crying but he can’t stop, he doesn’t know if he’s crying from the pain or from the anxiety. He’s sick to his stomach thinking about killing the rabbit. Josh’s hands press tighter against his ears. Tyler lets out a harsh sob.

Warm lips press against Tyler’s and his whole body goes slack and motionless. He’s filled with several different emotions he doesn’t remember the name of, and blinks of memories he isn’t sure are his own. 

Flashes of being underground, surrounded by concrete walls, the echoes of thousands of shoes above them and secret kisses shared beneath those feet. Flashes of nervous and curious kisses underneath thick blankets in old cars. No. Not in cars. In vans. And big buses. Flashes of happy kisses and congratulatory kisses and welcome home kisses and not so innocent kisses that have Tyler gasping for entirely different reasons than fear. 

He forgets to be afraid of the rattling noises, wrapped up in the way Josh’s soft lips move against his own chapped ones, to keep him quiet. It works. 

He is Snow White. Dead and frozen but brought back to life with a kiss.

Josh’s kiss is so familiar it renders his mind blank. He had forgotten what it felt like to be kissed. He had forgotten warmth could even feel like this. It creates a physical warmth in his heart but also an emotional warmth he can’t put a name to. It’s— intimate. Intimacy. Tyler decides that’s the correct word for it. 

Josh pulls back enough that their noses still brush, his eyes go crossed to focus on Tyler’s own gaze. He pulls one hand off of Tyler’s ear so he can hear his words.

“They’re looking for you. Don’t listen.” Josh murmurs against his lips, and Tyler would be powerless to deny anything Josh told him to do right now.

He’s still slightly fuzzy from the kiss, and doesn’t understand what’s going on but he somehow knows he can trust Josh’s judgement.

Tyler goes to replace Josh’s hands with his own, and in the brief transition he is able to understand what the noise is. It’s the rattle of a tambourine. The rhythm is enticing enough to make him want to listen but Josh is adamant, and places his hands over Tyler’s own hands on his ears to further muffle the sound and prevent him from falling prey to the hypnotizing sound.

Behind Josh’s head, Tyler can see a red robed figure moving through the woods, they move so elegantly it’s as if they were floating above the ground. They rattle the tambourine as if you would shake a box of treats to beckon your pet home for dinner time.

Closing his eyes, he tilts his head up enough until Josh understands, and kisses him again, out of comfort this time, instead of trying to get Tyler to stay silent.

He doesn’t feel trapped anymore. Instead he feels safe, in between the place he will be buried when he dies, and the person who brings him life.

Tyler is drawn back into unconsciousness, void of any fear, succumbing to the cold and Josh’s warmth fighting each other to keep him alive, and the rattling of the tambourine getting farther and farther away from where Josh takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, man I don’t know why I used the Snow White imagery either but I do know that I now want someone to write a Snow White Au am I right? It’s a little cheesy I know but it’s my fic, I get to choose the disney princess that I relate Tyler to okay?


	7. Chapter 7

Blurryface. Bishops. Trench. He remembers. 

He remembers. 

Little by little pieces come back to his mind and fit into place as he slowly regains consciousness.

The first thing he’s aware of is that his arms are painfully numb. The second thing he’s aware of is that he’s painfully cold. The third thing he’s aware of is that he’s painfully alive. 

His eyes are glued shut from his tears but he manages to wrench them open only to snap them right back closed again when the lightness of the sky—no matter how muted from the clouds—invades his pupils and stings. He sniffs and a large blood clot from his nose lodges in his throat. He spits out out and reopens his eyes. 

He’s fully alert when a door unhinges itself and falls off the car. Looking around, he sees that he’s sitting with his back against the trunk of the car. He goes to stand up, twists around and shouts out when he realizes there’s a noose around his neck, the end of the rope disappearing into the trunk of the car. 

Trapped. The rope is too short and forces him to hunch over awkwardly.

Looking over himself he assess that he’s physically unharmed, but emotionally and mentally the dam breaks and he sobs as the car wrenches forward and he’s forced to follow behind it, unless he would get choked to death.

The car is rusty. It wasn’t a nightmare. The Cadillac looks like it had burned up only to be put back together just enough to work. The fallen car door stays in the street as the car rolls slowly further away. 

It’s dehumanizing. Demeaning. Degrading. To be forced to limp, hunched over and tied to very thing that tried to kill him. He’s terrified to know whether or not the figure is in the front seat. Blurryface. He corrects himself. The figure is Blurryface. Blurryface is him.

The car lurches forward unexpectedly and tugs on the rope around his neck and forces him to walk faster.

If he can’t get rid of Blurryface, how can he break out of the cycle? He knows somewhere in his mind the answer is there, buried deep like the treasures hidden in the backseat of the car.

It’s so easy for him to feel hopeless when he’s held down like this, paraded around like he’s the prized sacrifice of the pack, the weakest one of the bunch. But Josh gives him hope, Josh’s appearances gives him anticipation and dreams and the will to stand up with as much dignity and pride as he can with the rope around his neck. 

But he never sees Josh in the road as he walks to his inevitable death. He feels like the clouds are mocking him, laughing at him for being tethered to the earth while they fly with no fear.

“I’ll always be there.” Josh’s voice mocks him in his head. He’s not here.

Tyler is alone. His feet drag and the car never slows down or speeds up. Dry snow starts to fall and catches in his eyelashes and around the noose. 

He slips on the fresh snow and nearly falls, heart pounding and stomach dropping at how easy it would be for him to accidentally fall and break his neck from the tug of the rope. 

They pass something new. There’s a treehouse built in one of the trees on the side of the road. It’s smoldering, decrepit and black like it had been burning not minutes before they pass by it. 

The floor falls through and the singed wooden planks splinter and sound hollow as they hit the ground.

It reminds him of a treehouse he used to have in his backyard. He and his brother would play in it often.

One side of the car bumper dislodges and scrapes across the ground at his remembering of his childhood treehouse. The scraping sounds grate on his mind and he desperately wishes for the quiet Josh speaks about in Trench.

He is forced to walk behind the car for three days, sobbing his broken heart out. He prays for the vultures circling overhead to take him. He never gets the relief of death despite never eating or drinking those days and he curses the bitter, endless cycle he’s forced to endure. 

He’s shocked when he is actually taken back to the city and he’s conscious for it. He wipes his tears and steels himself when the car enters the wall the Bishops are waiting for his arrival, he falls to his knees in relief that the journey is over and in hopes the Bishops won’t harm him as he genuflects before them. It’s Nico that steps up to him and takes Tyler’s chin in his cold hand and lift it to match their gazes.

The Bishop’s voice is colder than the biting winter wind. 

“You have been given the luxury of being personally driven back to the city, I hope that being made to walk the distance home has made you realize to not take the ride for granted this time.” Nico says, daring him to disobey.

“Yes, Bishop.” Tyler surrenders, voice void of any emotion.

Nico looks disgusted at the sound of Tyler’s steady words.

Tyler is hauled to his feet and the noose is cut. A part of him dares to make a run for it the moment he’s turned loose but he squashes it down before the thought can truly get him killed. 

“Off you go.” Nico turns him around and sends him back outside the wall with a little push, as if you would a send a child off to school.

They’re sending him back out? The cycle isn’t broken. Oh no.

The cycle isn’t broken. 

For the first time Tyler desperately thinks he doesn’t want to go back out into the world. He wants to stay mind-numbingly comfortable in his apartment, where he isn’t forced to ride in the car every time he wakes up, once a moon.

The wall is closed up behind him and he is shut into the cruel forest.

He is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn will I ever let Tyler get some rest


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: slight torture description and vomit mention I’m sorry

The car skids on the ice covered road. There’s ice on the windshield that makes the glass opaque and nearly impossible to see through.

Tyler isn’t afraid though. He knows he won’t die. He might experience the pain of the crash but now he knows the city will never let him die until he completes the cycle. Instead, the sliding car provides a rhythmic hum of noise that settles any nerves that his body innately wants to feel from being in danger. The engine sounds like it’s chugging harshly.

It’s in a split second that they take the turn too fast and the car flies off the road and wraps itself around a tree. A loud, horrible cracking and groaning sound comes from the Cadillac as it’s ruined. The tree they hit isn’t even dented.

Miraculously he isn’t even harmed or shaken because of the protection of the backseat. He can’t say the same for the figure in the front though, warped metal invading the front seat and reducing the area to a bloody mangled mess.

The door is unlocked when he kicks it open and tumbles into the grass. He crawls towards the road, dizzy with vertigo as thickly falling snow coats his form.

He makes it to the center of the road and collapses onto his back. There’s a steady drip coming from the car, staining the pure white blanket of snow on the ground with what looks like gasoline but could also be blood. His vision won’t stop swirling enough for him to focus correctly.

The sun is out and brightly shining above him. The sun? No. It’s a mess of yellow hair and a wide smile standing over him, but it might as well be the sun.

He feels like there’s cotton in his ears as Josh lays down next to him in the road, his lips are moving but no words process in Tyler’s brain. All he can hear is the steady drip, drip, drip, from the wreckage.

Josh rolls Tyler over onto his stomach and climbs over him to meld his front to Tyler’s back. It should be uncomfortable, being pressed into the cold street but all he can feel is the warm heat of Josh’s form behind him.

He turns his cheek to rest against the rough pavement and to face the ruined car, and an involuntary smile catches in his cheeks. How satisfying to see the car ruined so easily, so quickly, while he remains safe.

Spots dance in front of his eyes and he realizes it’s partly due to his eyelids fluttering when Josh rolls his hips purposefully into Tyler’s from behind. His hearing snaps back on and he groans at the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Josh does it again and really the cold pavement should allow no room for an erection but underneath him the road feels soft. It’s a weird, confusing feeling that makes the world stand on its head until his mind is brought to the present by Josh yanking the back of his pants down just enough that his dick still stays in his pants but enough that Josh can slip inside.

He moans out Josh’s name at the feeling of how warm his body is as it climbs inside of Tyler. It’s so warm and inviting. He feels like it should hurt, not being prepped or wet before Josh pushes in but it only serves to send spirals of electricity up his spine at the friction and he’s aware that he must be dreaming.

The pavement is too soft underneath him and Josh slides too easily behind him for it not to be.

“Total the car.” Josh mumbles into his ear as he thrusts hard enough into Tyler that it forces his cheek to scrape against the gravel in the road.

Tyler pulls his hips up to accommodate Josh’s harsh thrusts and sees stars when it’s the perfect angle. His fists scramble at the loose pebbles by his head and he watches blood drip down the lone hand that sticks out of the wreckage of the car. It’s got three lines tattooed on its wrist.

“Wreck the car. Roads only connect one city to the next.” Josh’s hand sneaks into the front of his pants and he gasps at how light but calculating the touch is.

“Josh, please.” He whimpers, unsure of what he’s even asking for at this point.

Josh’s calloused hand feels so familiar as it teases him with alternating hard and loose strokes that have him struggling to keep up. Tyler blindly chases the pleasure from both sides of his hips, rocking back onto Josh and then forward, chasing the grip of Josh’s hand.

It has his eyelids heavy and his mouth watering.

Josh’s other hand not working over Tyler’s cock presses down on the back of his neck, forcing his cheek into the road and causing him to arch up further. He doesn’t know which source of pleasure to focus on he’s so overwhelmed. The way Josh’s dick drags over his spot inside him, or the scene of the wreckage before him, or the way Josh’s hand feels slippery and almost too warm where it wraps around his cock. It feels like Josh’s body is pressed to every part of him he can reach as he rocks them and pulls their hips together at a brutal pace that hurts so good.

“Find me where the sun first meets the horizon.” Josh whispers like it’s a secret and nibbles on the tip of Tyler’s freezing ear.

“Josh.” Tyler feels like the only word he remembers is Josh’s name.

It’s Josh that comes first, and he nearly whites out at the hot wet feeling spilling inside of him as Josh grinds the tip of his dick into Tyler’s spot, rendering them both breathless.

The sun first meets the horizon? The sun meets the horizon? Where does the sun- The east! Tyler gasps as he comes to the realization of the phrase and as he comes into his pants due to Josh’s unrelenting squeeze on his cock. Shooting pleasure licks up his back and bites at the back of his neck- wait no that’s just Josh.

They’re suddenly ripped apart painfully and Tyler’s face is turned enough that he can see the figure has escaped the bloody wreckage, dripping in black paint.

He jerks awake in his seat, only to still be staring at Blurryface, but this time in his waking hours and not in a dream.

His brain is still sluggish with confusion as Blurryface gets out of the car and rips the back door open and grabs Tyler by the front of his nightshirt.

Tyler grinds his teeth together to keep from shouting out of fear when the figure grabs his throat and lifts him in the air with superior strength, and he kicks and struggles to get away. The figure slams him down on the hood of the car and the force of the metal against his head is sharp enough to make him sick to his stomach. But then he’s being picked up again and thrown down into the road and Blurryface climbs on top of him in a sickening comparison to Josh in his dream. 

The figure ties his wrists together as he thrashes desperately underneath him to get away, but it’s no use.

He does start to scream wildly in terror when he sees what the figure is trying to do. 

Tyler’s hands are held in place with the figures charcoal stained hands and he watches as wherever the figure touches, his own skin turns black. The car starts to move forward on its own, albeit slowly. He tries to throw the figure off of him, but a cold hand presses down onto the back of his neck and shoves his face into the pavement and forces him to watch as the car rolls over his bound hands.

He doesn’t even recognize his own screams as they leave his throat from the pain of his fingers being crushed under the weight of the car.

Blurryface laughs at his pain and his weak attempts to get free.

The second tire rolls over his hands and he’s sure that they’re going to be flat and mangled like the wreckage from the dream as the excruciating pain splinters up his arms.

The figure lifts off of him and goes to throw the car in park. Tyler can’t move on his own, can’t get up without his hands and feels shamefully helpless. The figure hauls him up and goes to stuff him back into the seat and Tyler tries, he really tries to kick and squirm and thrash his way out of the vice grip so he won’t be forced into the forsaken car again but the figure is too strong, shoving him half-hazardly into the backseat and slamming the door shut.

He cries. Silent tears stream down his face as he is forced to sit obediently. He cradles his broken hands in his come stained lap and chokes on his tears.

The hands on the clock of the dashboard all point to the number 11. Is it already the eleventh moon?

He wishes for the comfort of the gloves hopefully still hidden in the seat. He wishes for the comfort of knowing which way was up with the compass that was hopefully still buried in the seat. He wishes for the comfort of Josh holding him while he fights this battle.

East.

The rearview mirror detaches itself and shatters.

East. He repeats the word in his head so he won’t forget it.

There are still burn marks on the window from the sparks from when the car burned, and he knows they only repair the car enough so that it is drive-able.

“Total the car” he whispers Josh’s wise words aloud and the car jerks violently. He reaches out to steady himself before him remembers his hands are crushed. 

He throws up involuntarily when the pain is multiplied from him throwing out his hands to brace himself.

Blurryface only laughs at him and drives more recklessly. 

The pain grows too much as he’s thrown around from the car’s sliding and his brain takes pity on him, mercifully shutting off and he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
